


Grounded

by astraplain



Series: Bluebird [2]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4834139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astraplain/pseuds/astraplain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin is kidnapped</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grounded

The door opens easily, much to Brian's dismay. He pushes through with a grunt of effort, barely maintaining his hold on the heavy bag of takeout Chinese food. He drops it, the slippery pile of mail, a two-liter of Pepsi and a bookstore bag down onto the messy coffee table, ignoring the array of items that he knocks to the floor. Justin is such a slob. Speaking of which... The steady thump of music overhead tells Brian he'll find his wayward blond in the studio. He locks the front door before heading upstairs. He wants to see the mural Justin has been working on for the past two weeks while Brian was away on business.

Heavy bass all but rattles the windows and Brian uses the sound to cover his approach. He likes to try to surprise his young artist, although he is rarely able to do it; Justin seems to have an almost-sixth sense that alerts him whenever Brian is nearby.

Luckily, the blond is preoccupied with leaning way over to add a brushstroke to the lower corner of the beach at sunset that now covers an entire wall of the studio. While there are still some unpainted parts, the majority of the work is done - a slightly impressionistic version of the beach where they'd first met.

Brian frowns, remembering his first glimpse of the boy, slumped on the beach, knife in hand, with blood streaming from a self-inflicted wound on his neck. Brian had gotten medical care for the young man, and tended to him as he recovered. He'd also learned that the youth had been kidnapped as a child and forced to work in a Quoin, an exclusive brothel. The handsome young man served primarily as a singer for the club, but he was nearing the age when he would be forced to entertain patrons in other ways - which is why he had injured himself and then refused to speak.

With help from Cynthia, his ever-resourceful assistant, Brian discovered the blond was actually Justin Taylor, the missing heir to the Taylor fortune. His parents had been killed in an accident several years after his kidnapping and Justin became something of a celebrity upon his return to the US. Thankfully, the media circus was short-lived and Justin was able to focus on adjusting to his new life.

Fortunately, the blond was smart enough to understand that he wasn't ready to live completely on his own yet. He'd purchased a duplex and had Debbie and Vic living in the other half - close enough for comfort without being too restricted. He was eighteen after all, even if he had grown up sheltered from many of life's realities.

Brian smiles as the artist straightens, making his movements a bit too deliberate to be unaware of Brian's presence. Little shit.

"You planning on talking to me tonight or did you go silent again?"

It took months of therapy and reassurance after returning Justin to the US before he was willing to talk again. He'd been terrified that his former masters at the Quoin would come to claim him. Now, more than a year since their first meeting, Justin was still prone to long silences, falling back on the silent communication they'd perfected in the past year.

Justin turns and gives Brian a dazzling smile. There are random paint smudges on his face and clothing, even some in his hair. Brian shakes his head to stop the exuberant artist from charging into his arms. He points to the sink.

Justin blushes and hurries to clean up, taking care of his brushes before washing his hands. After a long moment he gives up and turns off the water. He surveys the studio, making sure everything is put away properly before walking to Brian's side.

"Shower," he explains apologetically before leaving the room. Brian notices that the young man is careful to keep his distance. He only made the mistake of getting paint on Brian's clothing once.

Knowing Justin will join him shortly, Brian returns downstairs to prepare for "movie night." It has become something of a routine for him to bring take-out and a movie over on Thursdays. They eat, talk about their week, and then watch a movie. Quite often, Brian stays the night. They haven't actually had sex yet, but they've progressed past just kissing. Brian is sure Justin's hormones won't last much longer; he's been much harder to stop the last few times when their kissing sessions included groping and undressing.

Still, Brian is concerned that Justin's past, and the things he'd seen while growing up in the Quoin will cause problems when they are finally intimate. He wants to be as sure as possible that the blond is ready and that he understands the difference between  
sex by mutual consent and what he'd seen at the Quoin.

The familiar sound of the shower ending and footsteps hurrying overhead jolts Brian into action. He sets out plates and silverware, opens the food cartons, and readies the movie in the DVD player. Justin asked for a scary movie and Brian had dug up a copy of "The Blob". He hates bloody slasherfests and refuses to sit through one, even if it is with Justin. Besides, he's not quite sure how Justin would react to anything too violent; the blond is prone to nightmares already.

"Chinese!" Justin cheers as he leaps down the last few stairs and lands with a thump. He's wearing a green t-shirt, baggy flannel pants and - of course - no socks. He hates to have anything on his feet.

"What's 'The Blob'?" He asks, examining the DVD box while biting into his first egg roll. Brian shoves a napkin at him and doesn't answer - Justin's already reading the movie summary anyway.

"This is good?" Justin asks skeptically, setting down the box and taking another huge bite of egg roll. "Sounds weird." He mumbles, his mouth full.

"I have no idea what you just said," Brian teases, dropping onto the sofa and leaning forward to fix his plate. He always buys extra egg rolls, but he makes sure to put one on his plate first thing. Justin has a tendency to inhale his food, especially egg rolls.

"I finished my homework early," Justin says proudly. "No tutor tomorrow, so I get a whole day off. I'm gonna finish the mural and go see a movie with Vic."

"I've got a late meeting." Brian reminds him. "But I might stop by afterwards if it's not too late."

"I'll be up!" Justin assures him, settling back against the sofa cushions with his full plate. He smiles hopefully at Brian. "You could sleep here and we'll go to late breakfast somewhere on Saturday. I won't even ask for McDonalds."

Brian shakes his head at the younger man's enthusiasm. "You talked me into it. But," he frowned, remembering the unlocked door when he arrived. "if I find the front door unlocked like it was today." He catches Justin's eyes to let the young artist know how  
serious he is about this. "You know how important it is to lock that door, especially when you are working upstairs." Justin nods solemnly. "Remember." Brian tells him quietly, then puts his arm around the man. "Now, ready for the movie?"

Justin shifts a little closer to Brian, giving him a smile before focusing on the TV. He is fast asleep before the movie ends.  
*****

"Justin!" Brian stomps to the stairs and yells. It is after ten at night and there are hardly any lights on in the house, but once again, the front door has been left unlocked.

"Get down here, Justin!"

Brian waits, his anger increasing as the seconds pass and there is no sound of footsteps overhead. Brian swears and stomps up the steps ready to rip into the irresponsible little shit.

Until he looks down and realizes what he is seeing. "Justin!" he shouts again, this time in panic. There are splotches of paint scattered across the floor, and the broken pieces of several brushes. He races to the studio , stopping hard in the doorway. The room  
is destroyed; paint is everywhere, including streaked across the mural - angry streaks of color across the serene beach. Canvases, paper and supplies are torn and scattered across the floor. Near the doorway is a dark red splotch of color that Brian refuses to think of as anything other than paint.

He leans heavily against the door while fumbling for his cell phone.

"Vic? It's Brian. Tell me that Justin's with you." A pause and then, "When did you see him last? Did he say anything? Did you see or hear anything unusual tonight?" Another pause. "Call 911 for me, then come over. Justin's missing."

Brian turns off the phone and puts it away, turning away from the sight of the ruined studio. He remembers how happy Justin was when he'd bought the house, joyfully dragging Brian to art supply stores for just the right equipment.

He forces himself to check the other rooms, but he already knows the blond is gone. The house feels cold and he wonders why he hadn't noticed it immediately.

"Brian?" Vic's voice drifts up from downstairs and Brian hurries to meet him. He can hear Debbie in the background.

"The police are on their way." Vic states without preamble. "They weren't in a hurry to come check on a missing person this soon, but when I mentioned Justin's name, they changed their mind."

"How kind of them," Brian snaps, moving restlessly around the room. He can see Debbie checking the rest of the first floor, as if she expects to find Justin hiding in the dishwasher or something.

"Not a damn thing," she finally concedes and returns to the living room. She drops into an overstuffed chair and stares straight ahead, blinking rapidly. "I didn't hear a damn thing."

"It's okay, sis." Vic moves closer and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Everything will be alright."

Brian resists the temptation to make a biting comment. He just can't be his usual asshole self right now. Besides... He stands and hurries to the door, opening it and watching the police car, running silent but with flashing lights, pull up in front of the house.  
*****

The loft feels cold and empty when he slides back the heavy door. Before he closed it this morning he'd turned back the thermostat, not expecting to be back for at least a day.

Well, technically it was the next day. The police had spent over an hour taking statements from him, Vic and Debbie. Then they'd called in a forensic team and chased the three of them into Vic and Debbie's half of the house. The team was still investigating when Brian had been sent home. Debbie had offered the use of her sofa, but Brian knew he wouldn't be sleeping that night and he didn't want to keep his friends awake.

He stares at the blinking light on his answering machine for nearly a full minute before he realizes what it means. Activating the play button, he almost stops breathing when he hears Justin's soft voice.

"Money." Justin says softly, his voice quavering. "They want all of it. Three..." There is the sharp sound of a slap followed by harsh murmuring. A few seconds of silence, then Justin again, slightly breathless. "Empty my accounts - all of them. Small bills. Buy small, matching black suitcases with wheels - as many as needed to hold all the money. Rent a blue van and drive it to the far side of Eastwood Park. At five o'clock, park under the pine tree beyond the baseball field. Lock the van and leave the key under  
the big white rock at the base of the tree. If you do exactly as instructed without involving anyone else, they'll let me call again tomorrow night at 10 to arrange a pick up. Goodb.."

The line went dead.  
*****

"I don't give a damn what it takes, Mel. I need that money now." Brian leans over Melanie's desk and glares at her. "Justin's life is at stake."

"Look, Brian. I like Justin. I'll do what I can, but you can't just walk into a bank and withdraw that kind of money on such short notice. Especially not in small bills. How do you even know they'll give Justin back once they get it?"

"Are you willing to risk it?" Brian hisses. "Because I'm not. I make enough money for us to live on without Justin's inheritance. He won't live like a millionaire, but then he doesn't anyway."

Melanie nods once, agreeing. "Okay. Get out of here so I can get to work. I'll call you as soon as arrangements have been made."

Brian catches her eyes and nods in response. It is as close as he might ever get to thanking her outright.  
*****

"Yes, yes," Brian accepts the stipulations required by the bank to transport such a large amount of cash. He notes the address of the warehouse where he will meet the bank's security truck to transfer the cash into the rented van. He has twenty minutes to make a five minute drive.

Thankfully, the truck arrives precisely on schedule and the guards help unload the money into the center of the floor. Brian skips his usual fussiness and kneels on the cold cement, stuffing the piles of neatly-wrapped bills haphazardly into suitcases. It seems to take hours but he is done with forty-two minutes to spare. It will take seventeen to reach the park, even with late afternoon traffic.

He carefully locks the back and side doors to the van and climbs into the driver's seat. With the weight of the full suitcases, it is a bit harder to navigate than expected, but Brian barely notices. Twenty-nine minutes.

Luckily, traffic is light and he reaches Eastwood Park three minutes earlier than expected. He drives slowly through the rambling park, noting how nearly deserted it is at this time of day. It is colder than usual for this time of year, and even the few devoted joggers he sees seem more intent on returning to their cars than on getting a full workout.

There is no one near the baseball diamond, and the parking lot is empty. Brian pulls into the designated spot and realizes that the overgrown branches will conceal most signs of movement in or near the vehicle. He gives the kidnappers points for cleverness at least. He hopes they are too clever for their own good - just like in those ridiculous movies that Justin likes.

Two minutes.

With a quick glance around, Brian leaves the van, making sure it is locked before placing the key under a rock near the pine tree. He scatters a few pine needles over top of the shiny gold key so that a casual viewer won't stumble against the rock and see it.  
Checking his watch one last time, he turns away from the van and starts walking. No matter how desperately he wants to look back, he doesn't. He won't do anything to risk Justin's safety.

He doesn't realize he is shaking until he reaches his own car and has to use two hands to open the door.  
*****

When the phone is still silent at midnight, Brian sends Vic home and opens a bottle of Beam.  
*****

The sound of someone pounding on his door wakes Brian at eight the next morning. The empty Beam bottle lying on the coffee table explains why he doesn't remember much of the previous evening.

"What?" Brian barks as he shoves open the door. His head hurts and he does not want to be conscious. The sight of two plain clothes police detectives waving their badges at him doesn't help improve his mood.

"May we come in?" The taller of the two detectives has green eyes and black hair. He looks like he never smiles, and his inexpensive suit is poorly cut and wrinkled. Brian pegs him as the pushy one and lets him pass. The slightly shorter partner has light brown  
hair and grey eyes. He is very fair and slender giving a first impression that Brian is pretty sure is misleading.

"Any news?" Brian demands as he allows the detectives into the loft and closes the door behind them. He gestures to the living area and offers them coffee, which they both accept.

While he waits for the coffee machine to work its magic, he joins the two men, waiting to hear what they have to say.

"I'm Detective Laytner, this is Detective McLean. I'll be straight with you, Mr. Kinney, the situation is not good. We have no clues as to what happened to Mr Taylor. We have no way of tracking the ransom you paid. There was no useful evidence at Mr. Taylor's  
house. We found nothing at the park where you left the van. We've got an APB out on the rental, but most criminals have seen enough movies to know to switch vehicles as soon as possible. I wouldn't look for any help there. But, if we do find it, at least we can  
check it for evidence."

"We're not trying to be difficult," Detective McLean says soothingly. "We just want you to understand that there is no quick solution in cases like this. Mr. Taylor is famous and worth a great deal of money and it is possible that once the kidnappers have it, they  
will let him go."

"What you're really saying is that there isn't a chance in hell that he's still alive." Brian turns abruptly and goes for the coffee. The detectives allow him his privacy, and after almost ten minutes, Brian returns, handing over steaming mugs of coffee to the grateful men.

"Okay," Brian says calmly as he takes a seat. "On the slim chance that Justin is still alive. What can I do to help? Talk to the press? Put up posters? What do I do?"

"We can't stop you from doing any of that, Mr Kinney. But if you do, it is very important that you do not talk about our investigation at all. One small slip can mean the difference between catching the criminals and letting them get away."

"I understand. Look, let me give you my phone number. You can call me anytime. Even if it's not good news. I just. I want to know whatever you find out as soon as possible." Brian goes to the computer desk and writes his contact information on a paper,  
handing it to Detective McLean before returning to his seat.

"What I'm about to tell you is need to know only, I don't want the press or Justin's relatives hearing any of this. Justin was kidnapped when he was six and forced to work in a Quoin - a high class brothel. He was a singer, not a prostitute because of his age.  
What if his owners wanted him back now that he's eighteen? He cut his own throat last year to get away from them. If I hadn't found him, he'd be dead. What if they've found him and reclaimed him. The money would just be a cover for the kidnapping. He's  
handsome, blond, has blue-eyes and a killer ass. He'd make a fortune for a place like the Quoin."

The detectives exchanged looks before responding.

Laytner leans forward a bit and says, "We were already aware of the prior kidnapping, and of where Justin had been kept. We knew he had been injured last year just before returning to the US, but did not know it was self-inflicted. We'll make sure everyone on the case knows that he is to be treated carefully."

"He didn't speak for months after I brought him home," Brian says quietly. "He refused to talk for fear that someone would take him back to the Quoin. If there's any chance that might happen, it has to be stopped before he hurts himself again."

"Mr. Kinney," Detective McLean leans forward, sitting close to his partner. His expression is full of sympathy. "You and Mr. Taylor seem close. Is he your lover?"

"If what you really want to know is if Justin is a virgin, the answer is yes. But that just makes this worse. It makes him more valuable to the Quoin. Many men would pay a small fortune to break in someone as beautiful as Justin."

"I understand." The detectives exchange another look, then stand. "We'll be in touch as soon as we have more information. Thank you for your time, Mr. Kinney." They leave their coffee cups on the kitchen counter on their way out.  
*****

"I want television, newspapers, even radio coverage. And let's get something going on the internet too."

Brian's office is now command central in his efforts to publicize Justin's disappearance. He is determined to get the word out all over the world in hopes that it will make it harder for his kidnappers to get him out of the country. He refuses to consider that Justin  
might be dead. Or that he had been kidnapped by anyone else. It has to be his former owners. It was the only thing that made sense.

"You're scheduled for a press conference in forty-five minutes, Brian. And I've got calls into Justin's grandfather and two cousins. I'll put them through as soon as they call back."

"Thanks, Cynthia. Could you check with Theodore and see how he's doing with putting together that website. I want it live before the conference."

"Will do." Cynthia thumps a sandwich and some vending machine coffee down on the desk. "Now take five minutes and eat something."

"Yes, boss." Brian snarks before reaching for the coffee. He takes a sip, grimaces, then smiles saccharine-sweet at her.

Cynthia huffs in annoyance and leaves.  
*****

Vic and Debbie are waiting for him when he arrives at the loft that night. He'd asked them to contact his friends and tell them to stay away for a few days. He knows they are concerned about Justin, but he just can't deal with everyone right now.

"I brought dinner. Sit down and eat." Debbie drops a large Tupperware container down on the table and heads off for plates. Vic sets his bag down with a bit more grace and starts unpacking the contents.

If Brian didn't know just how stuffed full of food Debbie's fridge is, he'd think she emptied it and brought everything to the loft.

"I'm not that hungry," he insists as he eyes the mound of pasta she is dishing out.

"You'll eat. Then you'll relax and watch a movie or something, then early to bed. You need your rest to handle the calls that will be coming in after that press conference."

"I have the calls routed to an answering service. They're directing everyone to the website Theodore set up. Anyone who really needs to talk to me can call back tomorrow."

Vic nods in approval and takes a seat, allowing Debbie to serve him. "We saw the press conference this afternoon. You did good."

"I hope it makes a difference."

"It will," Debbie states confidently. "Justin will be back eating everything in sight in no time. You'll see."

Brian doesn't answer. He is moving pasta around on his plate wondering how much he'll really have to eat when his cell phone rings.

"Justin?" He asks as soon as he has the phone in hand.

The voice on the other end is muffled, and barely audible. "Sheila Fulton."

"Who? Who is this? Is this about Justin."

"Tell McLean and Laytner: Sheila Fulton."

The line goes dead.

Brian punches in a number, activating caller ID. He notes the number on the screen before shutting off the phone. He studies it a moment before switching on his phone again and dialing the detectives.

"Kinney here. I just had a call about Justin. The person wouldn't identify themselves, but they called from this number." He relays the number back and waits a moment while the detectives ask a few questions. "The message was 'Tell McLean and Laytner:  
Sheila Fulton'. Does that sound familiar to either of you?"

"Fine. Call me back when you know anything. Thank you." Brian ends the call and turns back to Vic and Debbie. "Ever heard of a Sheila Fulton?"

They both shake their heads: no. Brian nods once and heads for his computer, dinner forgotten in his pursuit of something that might help find Justin.  
*****

"Brian there's something." Cynthia stops abruptly in the doorway to Brian's office. He is on the phone and she is afraid she's interrupted a client's call.

Brian motions her forward but keeps his ear to the phone. He has a pen and paper ready. "Both numbers please," he speaks into the phone. For a minute he is busy writing, then reading the numbers back to the person on the other end of the line. "No, that's all.

Thank you." He sets the phone down and makes a notation on the paper with the numbers before looking up. "What did you find?"

"Marion Cooke was Craig Taylor's long-time secretary. She was fired just before Justin disappeared. About a year later, she filed a paternity suit against Craig Taylor claiming that he was the father of her fourteen-year-old daughter, Sheila. The suit was buried for years in legal action and then ended when Craig Taylor and his wife died in that accident. Marion made a few attempts to get money from the estate, but six months after the Taylors were killed, she was in a car accident and suffered massive head trauma. She died three days later."

"Any information on the daughter?"

"The mother had a sizable life insurance policy. The girl left for Europe and seems to have disappeared. She was using the name S. C. Cooke."

"I can tell by that look on your face that there's more." Brian leans back in his chair and waits. Cynthia is good, and he trusts her researching skills.

"I did some checking and found out that Sheila's middle name is Catherine. I searched using variations of her first and middle name and found an S Catherine Cooke had married a William Fulton in London. Eight months ago they were divorced and Catherine Fulton returned to the US. She's living in Boston."

"Any way of verifying that she is Marion Cooke's daughter?"

"I'm working on it. I'm not sure I'll find anything definitive."

"I'll take whatever you get." Brian turns his attention back to his desk, already reaching for the telephone. His hand rests on the receiver and he looks up at his trusted assistant. "Cynthia, thanks." She nods once and exits.  
*****

It is almost nine when Brian arrives home. He'd stopped by Vic and Deb's but he hadn't ventured through the open doorway into Justin's side of the house. He'd hired cleaners to straighten the place after the police gave him the okay, but he still couldn't bring himself to enter that space. He'd wait until Justin came home.

The answering machine held nearly two dozen requests for interviews and inquiries about Justin. Brian skips through them, planning to deal with them in the morning. He moves restlessly around the loft, too wound up to settle. He downs one glass of Beam and pours another, carrying it to the living area. He stands in front of the television for a long moment, eyes fixed, unseeing, on the DVD box that lay on top of the set.

With a sigh of surrender he picks up the remote and settles onto the sofa, powering on the TV and DVD. He closes his eyes and lets the familiar sounds of "The Wizard of Oz" lull him to sleep.  
*****

The telephone wakes him at dawn. He blinks at the weak morning light as he fumbles to answer the annoying device. Propping it against his ear, he turns off the TV - the DVD had ended hours ago although he'd been asleep before then.

"Yeah," he grunts into the phone, turning away from the windows and trying to settle into a more comfortable spot on the sofa.

"Never mind the apologies, detective, just tell me. It must be important for you to call this early."

Brian is off the sofa now, pacing as the Detective Laytner relays the unexpected turn of events from the previous evening.

"So the bitch is in custody? You've got Justin?"

"What do you mean, 'not yet'?"

"How much longer? In real time, not cop talk, damnit!"

"Fine. Fine. Twenty minutes, detective."

Brian snaps the cell phone closed and tosses it aside while he hurries towards the shower. Precisely twenty minutes later he strides into Laytner's office ready to bully whoever he has to for some answers.

"Don't even start," Laytner warns him, motioning him towards a guest chair. "We're all over this, Kinney."

"We're doing everything we can to get Mr. Taylor home safely," Detective McLean adds, entering the room carrying three steaming mugs of coffee. He sets them down on the corner of his desk and offers one to Brian before handing his partner the second and  
claiming the third. He leans against the edge of Laytner's desk and waits for the expected response. Brian surprises them, and himself, by nodding his acceptance.

"We know how much you want your partner back, Mr. Kinney." The detectives exchange looks before Laytner continues. "We are doing everything possible to make that happen. And we are keeping you informed, as you requested."

"I know that," Brian admits. "And I appreciate it.

I know you have other cases." He takes a sip of the cooling coffee, making a face. No sugar. "What can you tell me about Sheila Fulton."

"You already know her background - how her mother claimed that Sheila was Craig Taylor's child, but that Taylor died before her claims could be verified. Then she died soon afterwards. Sheila's been out of the country for a while - married to a rich older man.  
But, when the marriage ended, Sheila returned to this country and a much more modest lifestyle." 

Laytner made a disgusted sound at the understated way his partner described Sheila Fulton's sudden change in financial status - the woman was living on a very small settlement and using credit and the kindness of friends to maintain the illusion of wealth.

"Anyway," McLean continues, clearly quite used to ignoring his partner's interruptions. "Ms Fulton was seen meeting with a Luis Diego, someone with close connections to "R", an elusive drug dealer. He's got a side line of moving party goods - the code name for youths being sold to South American prostitution rings. We've got enough evidence from phone records and eye witnesses to firmly link Ms Fulton with Diego. We've also got a possible lead on Justin. Based on information found in Ms Fulton's apartment, we have reason to believe that Mr. Taylor is still alive and intended for a return to South America."

"Do you have any idea where he is? How they're going to get him out of the country? Those TV and newspaper interviews I did featured his photo - and the billboards, commercials and print ads started yesterday. It's going to be hard to disguise him."

"Not necessarily," Laytner corrects. "Which is why we had our artist work up variation photos with different hair color and cut, color contacts and even some common prosthetic disguises."

Brian hates to ask but he has to: "What if the kidnappers decide he's not worth the risk? What if they decide to kill him?"

McLean walks over and kneels beside Brian, placing a calming hand on Brian's arm.

"There are no guarantees, Mr. Kinney. But, we have information that leads us to believe that Justin has already been sold for a substantial amount of money back to the Quoin where he once worked. Our source tells us that arrangements have already been made to conduct a private auction with Justin as the prize. The fee for admittance into the auction is one million dollars."

Brian leans back, stunned. He can't decide if he should be relieved that Justin's safety was assured in the short term, or worried about what will happen to him in the long term. Either way, he is determined to find Justin before he was back at the very place he'd fought so hard to escape from.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" 

McLean looks towards his partner before responding. "Just wait, Mr. Kinney. It's all any of us can do right now."  
*****

Brian sleepwalks through the rest of the day, thankful that he doesn't have any meetings or major projects to deal with. He knows he can't afford to continue this way - marketing is an ugly business and no one can risk letting themselves be distracted for too long.

Still, he is very glad when he is home again, sitting on his sofa, eating take-out and watching that damned movie again. 

Deb and Vic had called, and Michael had stopped by for a visit. It had been a struggle to get him to leave, but finally Brian was alone - just himself, his food and that movie that is as close as he can get to Justin.  
*****

The next four days are torture. Brian is convinced that he's discovered a whole new level of purgatory. - one so horrible that Dante would never have conceived of it.

Cynthia is ready to kill him - or at least drug him, tie him up and stuff him in a closet somewhere.

Like Justin.

Brian flops over onto his stomach and tries to deal with the reality that he is being maudlin.

No wonder Cynthia is at her wit's end - Brian can barely even stand himself.

Four days. No calls, no breakthroughs, no sign of Justin.

He thinks about going to Babylon; getting wasted and spending time in the back room is usually a good way of not thinking for a while. Too bad his brain won't let up long enough for him to achieve that state. Instead he is home. Alone. Watching that fucking movie.  
*****

If you ask him, he won't be able to tell you what day it is. All Brian knows is that it is late and he is exhausted. He can't remember if he's eaten, and isn't interested enough to care.

He hates his job.

He hates his clients.

He hates his loft.

He hates all these stairs, but not as much as the unbearably slow elevator.

Why can't he just live on the first floor? All this up and down is too much effort for someone as tired as he is.

Maybe he'll move.

But not now.

All he sees as he steps onto the landing in front of his loft is the ugly, heavy door he'll have to get past in order to get to his bed.

He almost steps on the plain brown envelope before he realizes it is there.

He picks it up and frowns at it. It isn't FedEx or UPS - it is just plain with his name typewritten on a label across the width of one side.

He stares at it, suddenly more alert.

Could it...?

He unlocks the door and shoves it open with a surge of new-found energy. Safely inside and secure, he doesn't even take off his coat before tearing open the flap.

Upending the contents onto the dining room table, he feels his pulse quicken. Without even waiting to study the contents he calls McLean.

"Kinney here. Something you should see. My place." He hangs up on the detective mid-sentence.

Fifteen minutes later the three men are seated around the table studying the three photographs and the terse, type-written note that reads: Miami. Monday morning. One chance.

The photos are all of Justin, very recent. His hair is styled, his face made-up and he seems to be wearing green contacts. He makes a striking teen-aged girl. In the first photo he is wearing a t-shirt tucked into jeans. The second, his hair is a little different - slicked back more and his make-up more colorful, but not overdone enough to draw too much attention. In the third photo he has a baseball cap pulled low on his head and his clothes are nondescript and loose.

The three men exchange looks before the activity begins - calls to be made - interstate cooperation to be established - analysis to be run on the envelope and photos.

Brian lets the detectives handle it while he stares at the familiar face, all traces of exhaustion gone.  
*****

He blows off Mikey again and stays at the office working like a demon. He wants all of his projects completed before he flies to Miami. He has already arranged for time off and doesn't want there to be any reason for his work to disturb his reunion with Justin.

He clamps down hard on his thoughts and returns to his computer, typing as fast as his fingers can move. He is going to finish this tonight.

He pauses a moment, rereading the words onscreen while taking a bite of his half-finished sandwich. He'll have to remember to thank Cynthia for supplying food and coffee at regular intervals over the last few days.

Satisfied with his work, he saves the file and checks his email one last time. A few small details to take care of and he'll be home in an hour.  
*****

"You have my cell phone number and the number for the hotel?" Brian can hear the mild annoyance in Detective Laytner's confirmation. "Yes, I'll stay at the hotel. I know. I know. I've made arrangements to stop in Atlanta. I'm taking a charter to Florida. As long as I'm not being watched closely, it will appear as if I'm on a business trip. My assistant is handling things at work."

Brian sighs and walks back to the closet, selecting some clothes for Justin. "Yes. Yes. I understand, detective. I won't interfere. I'll stay at the hotel and wait for your call. Yes." Brian looks ceilingward and reminds himself that this man is his source of information about Justin, he can't piss him off. Yet.

"Good. Thank you, detective." Brian turns the phone off and tosses it onto the bed. He is taking a Sunday evening flight to Atlanta and he doesn't want to talk to anyone else before then.

He reaches down at picks up the ugly stuffed lizard that Justin had brought home. It is a bit worn on one leg and there is a spot of something on the tail.

Brian smooths the fabric into place before setting it in his suitcase.  
*****

He is going crazy.

He is going to explode.

He is going to... have another drink.

Brian heads for the minibar in his hotel suite. He grabs something at random, then stops and takes a deep breath. No. He wants to be completely sober when he sees Justin. Justin doesn't like alcohol - it reminds him of his life in the Quoin and all the drunken, leering men he'd had to entertain.

Brian steps out on the balcony and smokes a cigarette instead.

He resists the urge to check his watch - again - until the cigarette is gone. He diverts himself for another few minutes by watching the people moving far below, and then by looking out towards the water. 

He'd talked to Detective McLean earlier, accepting the man's assurances that he'd be called as soon as there was something definite to report. The morning crawled and now it is almost noon.

If he doesn't hear from them by twelve-thirty, he is calling them.

The sound of the cell phone interrupts that thought.

"Justin?" he yells into the phone. He is shocked into silence when the familiar voice responds.

"Where are you? I know. I'll be there." He listens helplessly as the young man's voice quavers. "Justin, hold on a little longer. Tell them what you can. I'll be there as soon as I can. You can tell the doctor to wait until I'm there. I know. Let me talk to Detective  
Laytner, okay?"

The phone transfers hands and Laytner tells Brian that McLean is already on the way to drive him to the hospital. Brian thanks him and hangs up, running for the door just as someone knocked.

"You've already talked to Justin," McLean observes, smiling as the eager man yanks open the door to greet him. "Come on. I'll brief you in the car."

Brian hurries to follow after McLean, resisting the urge to ask questions until they are away from curious eyes and ears.  
*****

"Tell me." Brian demands as soon as he is in the car with the door closed.

"He's fine." McLean assures him, flashing him a reassuring smile before turning his attention back to the heavy traffic. "A few minor bruises and scrapes. He was pretty shaken up so we're having him checked out just to be safe."

"Did you catch the bastards who did this?"

"Two of them. One of them is already singing so we'll get the others. Don't worry about it. And, you might want to know that we've recovered some of the ransom money too."

"Good. Any idea who our informant was?"

"Not yet, but I would bet that Justin knows."

"He's really okay?"

"He's a brave young man, Mr Kinney. He'll be fine." McLean laughs, shaking his head. "One of the kidnappers tried to bolt when he realized what was happening. Justin tackled him."

Brian can imagine it easily. His little blond has tackled him more than once. He pushes aside the thought that Justin could have been hurt and just tries to think about seeing him again soon.

"We're here,'" McLean announces unnecessarily as they pass a sign for the hospital's main entrance. He navigates towards a set of doctor's offices in the back and parks in the reserved lot.

Nodding to the policeman waiting outside a featureless door, McLean keys a series of numbers into the keypad. He leads the way down a short hall and knocks on a closed door. There is movement inside and the door is opened partway by Detective Laytner.

"Want visitors?" McLean asks, pushing past Laytner and letting Brian in. Brian barely takes two steps before a pale-skinned blur latches onto him. 

He leans down and kisses the disheveled blond head. There were traces of make-up on Justin's face, but most of it had been wiped away. Thankfully he was wearing a plain shirt and jeans and not a dress.

"Hey," Brian offers as a greeting.

Justin grips him tighter, face buried against his chest.

"We'll be outside," McLean comments before shepherding Laytner out of the room.

As soon as the door closes, Justin presses his lips against Brian's. His hands grip Brian's arms hard enough to bruise and his entire body is plastered against the taller man's.

Resisting the compulsion to fill up the silence with platitudes, Brian wraps his arms around the young man and guides him backwards towards the exam table. Letting go, he takes a seat on the table, then pulls Justin up onto his lap.

"Okay?" Brian asks, letting Justin decide how to interpret the question. The blond simply nods and rests his head against Brian, interlacing their fingers. They sit together in silence, too aware of the movements and sounds from just beyond the door. This is not the place for a reunion.

After almost fifteen minutes there is a knock on the door. It opens slowly, and McLean steps in, followed by a short grey-haired doctor.

"Hello Justin," the older man crosses the room and offers his hand in greeting. "I'm Doctor Newhouse. I hear you've had a bit of excitement." The doctor turns his attention to Brian. "I gather you're Mr Kinney?"

Brian nods and shakes the man's hand. He looks down at Justin, reluctant to let go of the young man, but the doctor stops him.

"You can stay there if you'd like. I just need to check a few things with young Justin here and then these nice detectives can take you back to your hotel." He picks up a medical chart that had been tucked into a wall holder and glances over it quickly.

"Now the nurse already took your temperature, checked your blood pressure and all that. Do you mind if I check a few other things? I won't even make you wear one of those hospital gowns everyone loves so much."

Justin nods and sits up a little straighter in Brian's lap.

"Let's see. Checking your eyes here. Bright light for a minute. Follow the light. Very good. Done with that. Now the reflexes. I have my little hammer right here. It's a bit awkward like this - can you move a little. That's good. Excellent." The doctor keeps up a  
cheerful monologue as he examines Justin, fitting instructions between comments so that Justin doesn't have much time to think about what is happening. Before he has time to get nervous, the exam is done.

"Well Justin, you look fine to me. I'd like you to schedule a visit with your regular physician when you get home, but I don't see any reason to keep you. Why don't you get your tall friend here to take you somewhere nice to eat. Just don't overdo; you haven't had much to eat for the last week and you don't want to make yourself sick." The doctor shakes Justin's hand, then Brian's and turns to go. McLean follows him out, calling: "I'll be back in a minute to give you a ride," before closing the door.

Brian lifts Justin off his lap and holds him until Justin is steady on his feet. He is pale and there are faint circles under the young man's eyes.

"How would you like to go back to the hotel and order some room service? They've got ice cream."

Justin offers him a tired smile and leans against him, suddenly looking very young.  
*****

"We will, detective. Thank you. Yes, we're staying at least a week. Justin needs some time to recover before we go home. I've already called Justin's friends and family. I've had my assistant issue a statement to the press saying that Justin is safe, but in seclusion  
while he recovers."

Brian looks over at the still form sprawled across the bed, that ridiculous stuffed lizard laying upside down beside him. Justin had showered, eaten a light meal and then collapsed. Three hours later he was still sound asleep.

"If you need anything before we get back, call my cell. Yes. I understand. We'll take care of whatever paperwork is needed when we get back. If something can't wait, call me. I will. Thank you, detective. Thank you partner, too."

Brian turns the phone off and drops into the closest chair, leaning back and closing his eyes. He is so tired. Thankfully, the kidnappers are talking so the detectives are content with the little Justin told them just after his rescue. Hopefully they would be content to wait until Justin was back in Pittsburgh before they wanted more details.

Brian lifts his head and looks out the full-length windows, letting his mind drift. All the waiting is catching up to him and he can't seem to pull his thoughts together.

It had been so close.

If not for their unknown informant, Justin would be back at the Quoin right now, ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Brian shudders and levers himself out of the chair. Without thought he moves towards the bed, tossing off his clothes. He crawls in beside the warm, pale body, molding himself around the young man.

Justin stirs and shifts, falling into his usual position when sleeping in Brian's bed. They fit together, just right, their connection innocent.

Brian almost laughs at the thought, but it is true. Justin is still innocent, and Brian will do anything to keep him that way until Justin is ready. And then, Brian will be there to teach him. To guide him. To watch his bluebird fly.

::end::


End file.
